Master of Disaster
by Amethyst Beloved
Summary: In which Mama Milligan attempts to show accident-prone Miles how to work his way around the kitchen while Tristan observes the chaos. Takes place between Triles For Miles' "Safety" and "Staying Safe" where Miles is living with the Milligans. I've played with Sawyer's headcanon that Miles is a walking disaster in the kitchen, as referenced in the second fic.


"It's not gonna work."

"How can you say that if you've never seen him try?"

"Oh, I've seen him try. And let's just say that when Maya had him as her Home Ec partner, it was pretty much the only time when I _wasn't_ jealous."

"Well, that's because your teacher had a whole class to run. You'll see, he'll flourish under my care."

"It's still not gonna work."

"Sweetheart, let's just forget about those two times he burnt dinner. He just needs someone to take him under his wing. If I can teach your brother how to cook then doing the same with Miles will be a breeze."

That was when the boy in question entered the kitchen and gave both Tristan and Ms. Milligan a kiss on the cheek while he wished them a good morning. He sat down next to his boyfriend, but there was a look in both of their eyes that suggested that they knew something that he didn't.

"So what's going on?"

"Today is the day you're going to learn how to cook," said Ms. Milligan clasping her hands together and giving him a warm smile.

Miles' face fell and his eyes grew wide while a knot in his stomach began to tighten. Over the past few months of living in safety with Tristan's family after being severely abused by his father, he had gotten used to downscaling his lifestyle without a hitch. As long as he avoided the kitchen like the plague, of course. But he was quickly realizing that there were things that he couldn't run from. Like Mama Milligan firing up the stove just for him.

"Come on, you can't hide forever! Let's start with oatmeal."

Reluctantly Miles measured the milk, oats, sugar and salt. He combined the ingredients in a small saucepan under the matriarch's instructions. He stirred continuously but was unable to achieve a smooth consistency. When he got to the point where he figured that it was ready, the oatmeal was dry and clumpy. But that did not stop Ms. Milligan from getting her hopes up. She eagerly tried it out, only to quickly put her spoon back down and push the bowl away. Tristan held back a scoff.

"There's always instant."

"Okay," she continued, not ready to give up just yet. "How about we try out eggs? It's Tris' favourite!"

Tristan internally whimpered over the possibility of this accident-prone boy destroying his most loved dish. With bated breath, he watched Miles pour the mixture in the pan until the substance solidified. Ms. Milligan looked on with pride as he slid the fried egg from the pan to the plate to give it to his boyfriend. But her jaw dropped when her son sliced away his first piece only to have the runny yolk ooze its way from the inside to around the plate.

"No worries. We'll think of something. Toast! You can't mess up toast!"

"Just watch him, Ma," Tristan mumbled.

Miles inserted some bread in the toaster. But somehow nothing was safe from his touch because when the toast popped out it was inexplicably charred black.

"How did you manage to…"

Ms. Milligan did not know what else to say. Tristan was able to familiarize himself in the kitchen with ease and all it took from her was some gentle guiding. Owen was a tougher challenge, but she managed to upgrade his skills to go beyond macaroni and cheese. However, Miles was a new species of cluelessness altogether.

"Forget it, just forget it. You and the appliances will never be friends. Just stow away those clean forks and knives and I'll whip something up for you in the mean time."

Miles couldn't help but feel guilty about being a disaster in the kitchen. The Hollingsworth clan had grown so accustomed to having the cook prepare their meals for them that Miles' own mother probably wouldn't have been able to show him how to cook even if she wanted to. Dutifully he grabbed the cutlery in his hands but once he realized that it was more than he could manage it was already too late. Pieces of silverware were slipping through his fingers. A rather sharp steak knife slit his index while he was trying to catch it and a cleaver landed practically an inch away from his bare pinky toe on the floor.

No one moved for a good ten seconds and Ms. Milligan took a deep breath.

"Miles, you are never to step foot in another kitchen ever again."


End file.
